An Introduction to the Doom

When I started this blog, I wanted it to be more of a lighthearted narrative chronicling my son growing up and life in general. I want it to be much like my favorite blog, Confessions of a Pioneer Woman (If you haven't checked it out, do so. You WILL laugh.) I love her style of writing and photography. I envy her creativity.

Although I am a journalist, I do have to admit that this style of writing is very unfamiliar to me. I sure can whip up a 20-inch news article on the city's latest budget crunch in a matter of minutes, but breaking out of that "news" mold is difficult for me. I was taught to keep it simple. No fluff.

So, bear with me as I try to break out of the box and into a new, fluffy one.

I know that my previous posts have been me rambling about and sappy. So let's begin the new, fluffy, fun blog:

My son has an obsession.

While most normal 2-year-olds ramble about and find the greatest pleasure in getting into drawers, dirt and shiny, breakable objects that you thought were perched well out of their reach, my son is in love with one thing.

The "Doom."

For those of you who don't speak 2-year-old, that is "vacuum."

And he doesn't discriminate; he loves all dooms, big and small. Our household doom, the shop vac doom, the handheld doom, all toy dooms and anything that even remotely resembles a doom.

Because of this new love, we even bought him his own toy doom. Which he now gleefully plays with every day, going about the house and dooming anything in his way. The floor, his toy trucks, the dog ... no one is safe from the doom. Even you.

This week my son began a new daycare. After being with his previous provider for two years, I was very nervous about the transition. I had visions of a full-out breakdown complete with tears and my poor little son clinging to me screaming "NO MOMMY!" as I left him off for his first day of his "new school." I got up early and prepared myself emotionally for the emotional battle I was sure I was going to have to endure that morning.

And then there were dooms.

As I walked him to his new classroom, in this new unfamiliar daycare and introduced him to his teacher, my son's ocean blue eyes perked up and began to gleam.

I sat him down on the ground and he immediately walked, eyes still gleaming, straight towards the back corner, bypassing the bin full of shiny toy trucks, right past the table full of large, rubberized dinosaurs begging to be played with ... and toward a small orange object sitting alone.

He then turned to me and proudly, excitedly exclaimed to me "MOMMY! DOOM!" Yes, there was a toy doom. Just sitting there, like a diamond in the rough.

My little doom-obsessed son then proceeded to go about the new, unfamiliar classroom as if he had been there for the past two years, dooming.

When I turned to leave, I looked back. Still expecting some sort of emotional breakdown. Yet there was none. Just my son, happily dooming away.

"By-bye mommy," I heard my son's small voice say as I left. "I dooming."